


The Den

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Prompt Fills [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Pregnancy, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 20:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7068379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara was supposed to be resting, the Doctor had been very insistent about that - being six months pregnant and undertaking strenuous activity don't mix, that was what he'd been telling her for weeks on end.</p><p>But one summer afternoon, their daughter decides she wants to build a den in their back garden... and somehow, neither parent can find it in themselves to say no.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Den

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSaddleman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSaddleman/gifts).



> Fluffy little fic I wrote based off [this Tumblr post prompt](http://anotheruserwithnoname.tumblr.com/post/145309287834/she-even-makes-cardboard-cute), which is in turn based off [this Instagram photo Jenna posted.](https://www.instagram.com/p/BGJnG0hi7Pw/)
> 
> Note: this does _not_ occur in the same universe as Looking For Something Dumb To Do.

Clara lay back on the sun lounger, feeling the dappled July sun warm her face as she dozed peacefully, one hand resting lightly on her stomach as a soft breeze stirred her hair lightly. She contemplated asking to go on an adventure, or asking the Doctor to bring her a book from inside the house, but somehow the absolute tranquillity of the moment was enough for her, and she could neither bring herself to speak nor move. She made a small hum of contentment, stretching her arms and legs out luxuriously before settling back and trying to tune out the world around her, seeking to ignore the worries that nudged insistently against the edges of her consciousness in favour of attempting to relax. 

“Mummy!” came a small, insistent voice, what felt like seconds later, and when Clara snapped her eyes open she realised she had fallen asleep. “Mummy, I’m bored. Let’s play.” 

“Millie,” came the Doctor’s voice, as he emerged from the house holding a tray of iced lemonade, beaming fondly at their daughter as he did so. He placed the tray down beside Clara in the shade, and then crouched so he could make eye contact with the little girl, giving her his best attempt at a stern look. “You know your ma has to rest…” 

“Because of the baby, I know,” Millie clambered onto the sun lounger by her mother’s side and placed one hand on the curve of Clara’s stomach, stroking gentle circles. Clara looked down at the little girl lovingly, noting the haphazard daisy chains that adorned the girl’s dark hair and small wrists and feeling a small thrill of nostalgia. Her daughter placed a single daisy in the centre of Clara’s bump and then looked up at her with an eager expression. “Will the baby come soon, mummy?” 

Clara laughed a little, putting one arm around her daughter and dipping a kiss to the crown of her head “I don’t know, little one,” she mused thoughtfully. “You arrived a little late, so maybe your baby brother or sister is going to be late too. They won’t be born until October, though. So you have to be patient.” 

“When’s October?” the five-year-old asked, chewing her lip as she tried to work out the dates, still struggling with linear time. 

“Halloween,” the Doctor said pragmatically, leaning over Millie to kiss Clara’s cheek affectionately. “Halloween is October, so when Halloween is here, you’ll have a new brother or sister. Won’t that be exciting?” 

“But… but what if they’re born on Halloween?” the little girl looked up at her mother, caught somewhere between concern and fascination at the sudden realisation: “what if they’re a witch or a vampire?” 

Clara laughed, stroking Millie’s hair back fondly, taking in the wide hazel eyes – so much like her own – that betrayed her daughter’s worry. “They won’t be a witch or a vampire,” she promised the little girl. “Or a werewolf, or scary. They’ll just be a normal baby, like you were when you came out my tummy.” 

“Well,” the Doctor interjected firmly. “Mills, I wouldn’t say you were a _normal_ baby, you were _extraordinary,_ our little genius. Playing the piano at age two…” he flung his chest out with pride. “And the guitar by age four.” 

“Mm,” Clara said with mild irritation, rolling her eyes slightly. “I remember you teaching her. At three o’clock in the morning.” 

“Well there was nothing else to do,” he huffed, looking somewhat forlorn by his wife’s lack of enthusiasm. “You were sleeping-” 

“No, I wasn’t. Because you were playing the _bloody_ piano…” 

Millie sighed, already bored of her parents’ good-natured bickering, accustomed as she was to their daily spats and bantering. She climbed down from her mother’s side and wandered across the slightly-unkempt lawn, coming to a halt by the twisted apple tree towards the end of the expanse of grass and beginning to swing around it as her mind wandered in search of possibilities. She knew her mother was supposed to rest – it had been drummed into her so repetitively by her father that it had become a mantra in their house – but she was _bored,_ and surely there was something that her mummy could do that wouldn’t be overly strenuous. 

An idea popped into her mind, fully formed and demanding her attention, and she grinned. 

“Daddy?” she shouted excitedly, spinning on her heel and racing back to the patio, where her father was now sat with his arm tucked around Clara’s shoulders, her head nuzzled into the crook of his neck, all complaints forgotten about. “Daddy, mummy can play with us – I know what we can do.” 

“What’s that, angel?” Clara said fondly, sitting forward and holding out her hand to her daughter, who took it and squeezed happily. “I bet it’s a brilliant idea.”

“Daddy, you put together all the nursery things, didn’t you? So there was lots and lots of boxes.” Millie looked to her father for confirmation and watched him nod in slightly confused agreement. “So we could get the sticky tape and some string and we could make a den for you and me and mummy and the baby. It won’t be lots and lots of work, daddy, we can do lots of the making and mummy can superv- supervi- supervise.”

The Doctor looked to Clara, who was already beginning to smile at their daughter fondly, pleased by the idea. 

“I think that sounds good,” Clara decided, and Millie whooped with joy, tearing inside and up the stairs in search of the discarded cardboard packaging that had encased the furniture the Doctor had spent the previous evening constructing.

 

 _“Why don’t you just read the instructions?” Clara had asked him for the thousandth time that evening. “Rather than just trying to sonic everything together? You’re going to break something. You’re_ already _trying my patience.”_

_“You said that every day the last time you were pregnant,” he reminded her impatiently. “I believe the worst it came to was threatening me with death while you were in labour, so forgive me if I don’t take your threats entirely seriously, Clara.”_

_“Mm,” Clara recalled with a grimace. “I seem to recall that I threatened to punch you if you put me through this again, so don’t test me too much, you’ve met my right hook before.”_

_“Look, are you going to sit there and whinge all evening, or are you going to help?” he asked, glaring up at her balefully from his seat on the floor. “Because it’s not helpful.”_

_“I’m pregnant.” Clara said smugly from her position in the old rocking chair, using her condition as a shield._

_“Really?” the Doctor said sardonically, looking her up and down and pretending to notice – for the first time – her bump. “Wow, I hadn’t noticed.”_

_“Shut up, space man,” she said fondly, grinning at him despite herself. “I’m pregnant, I’m not allowed to help.”_

_“I regret ever starting this rule,” he grumbled, trying and failing to attach two pieces of wood together with setting 491 before groaning and casting them aside, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “This is_ hard _.”_

 _“Oh,” she said comfortingly, rising from the chair and crossing to straddle his lap cautiously, then playfully adding: “I’m_ so _sorry I got pregnant again and you have to construct more furniture.”_

 _“Takes two to tango,” the Doctor reminded her, kissing the tip of her nose with a small smile. “We can try this again tomorrow, maybe. Perhaps_ with _instructions.”_

 _“Deal…” Clara concurred, kissing him gently, her hands resting on his chest and feeling the twin beat of his hearts under her palms._

_“Ewwwwwww,” came Millie’s voice from the doorway, and they broke apart guiltily. “Gross.”_

“No kissing today,” Millie said firmly, as she scooped up a pile of cardboard determinedly and glared at her father sternly. “OK daddy?” 

“You really are profoundly your ma’s daughter,” he grumbled under his breath, giving her a fond yet irked look. “All the time.” 

“Well of course I am,” Millie pouted, and rolled her eyes in a distinctly Clara-esque manner. “Duh.” 

“I meant…”

“He means,” Clara explained, appearing at the top of the stairs, one hand cupping her bump as she smiled at her husband and daughter. “That you like to be in charge.” 

“Is that bad?” Millie asked while biting her lip, suddenly concerned, and Clara stroked her hair gently, seeking to offer reassurance to the little girl. 

“No, love,” she promised. “After all, it’s how I got your father to finally stop divvying about and tell me how he felt. So it’s really how you got born.” 

“Ewwww,” Millie said with relish, although her wide smile betrayed her. “Gross.” 

“Cheeky monkey!” Clara teased, lunging for her daughter and beginning to tickle her as the little girl squealed for mercy, writhing in her mother’s arms in an attempt to get away. “Come on you, help your dad carry the cardboard downstairs. Carefully, mind – hold the handrail.” 

“Yes mummy,” Millie said, catching her breath once her mother had relinquished her hold on her, and then gathering up armfuls of cardboard and heading downstairs with caution under her mother’s hawk-like gaze. “We’ll start building!” she called over her shoulder, and Clara smiled. 

“She’s so much like you,” the Doctor said again, grinning soppily at his wife in a way that reminded her distinctly of his bow-tie self. “Only maybe a little more… special.” 

“You mean maybe with two hearts, and a really sneaky gift for reading minds?” Clara said, smiling back at him slightly. “I’d noticed. She still makes my heart melt every time I look at her.” 

“So do you,” the Doctor mumbled a little shyly, dropping his gaze to his feet as he turned a violent shade of maroon, and Clara laughed fondly, putting her hand under his chin and tilting his head up to meet her eyes. “What?” 

“You’re just…” Clara paused, searching for the right words, knowing they couldn’t be too explicitly affectionate or he’d be too embarrassed to respond. “I’m very fond of you. Husband.” 

“Fond of you too,” he repeated, smiling at her bashfully. “Wife.” 

“DADDYYYYYYYYYYYY,” Millie called from outside, and both parents laughed at her impatience. “HURRY UP.” 

“She’s got your volume levels,” the Doctor teased, grabbing the leftover cardboard and dodging out of range before Clara could smack him on the arm. “That’s for sure.” 

He fled downstairs as she chuckled in exasperation and crossed to the airing cupboard, pulling out a few blankets and spare pillows to kit out the proposed den once it was completed. Her hands brushed over the midnight-blue quilt they had bought on Akhaten, and she drew it out, before heading into her room and returning with her _101 Places to See_ book, descending the stairs carefully and stepping back out into the sunshine. 

Millie was engrossed in building the den with her father, who was using the opportunity to deliver a short – or so Clara hoped – lecture on physics and architecture, gesticulating wildly with his arms as Millie strategically placed pieces of cardboard under his careful guidance and advice. Clara stood and watched for a few moments as every so often he leant over and used a length of string to secure the cardboard to the trunk of the apple tree, Millie circling the perimeter of the structure with a scrutinising eye, occasionally pausing to add a length of duct tape to a join, or to adjust the positioning of a piece of card. 

Sinking into her chair once again, Clara thumbed through her book as she watched the two of them construct their den, looking up every few minutes to offer them words of encouragement and praise. The Doctor worked patiently with Millie, and Clara remembered those early days of her first pregnancy, with the Time Lord treating her as carefully as if she were made of glass, too afraid to even consent to taking her on trips lest some harm come to her or their child. His caution and care had, upon her birth, extended to their daughter, with him as protective as a lion yet as easy-going as she could have wished for, with endless amounts of time and love to offer the little girl as she grew, constantly seeking to challenge and help her grow as a person, cultivating kindness and empathy in Millie alongside a desire to learn and to help.

“Mummy!” Millie called some time later, breaking her from her reverie, and she looked up to see the den now mostly finished, arranged haphazardly into a rough pyramid shape yet looking reassuringly sturdy. “Mummy, it’s finished! Bring the cushions and come and get in with us, it’ll be the best!” 

Clara heaved herself up from her chair and crossed the lawn to her daughter, who was sat cross-legged by the entrance to the den, gesticulating grandly to the small archway that led inside. “Ta dah!” Millie said proudly, and Clara kissed her daughter on the cheek quickly, before slowly lowering herself to her knees. 

“Wow!” Clara said, carefully crawling inside and then spreading out the blanket and cushions for her family to recline on, sitting back on her haunches as she looked around with a practiced eye. “Did you guys maybe do something sneaky in here?” 

“No,” came the Doctor’s voice, slightly muffled by the cardboard but still sounding distinctly like he was lying. “Why would you think that?” 

“Because this seems bigger on the inside,” Clara said simply, laughing a little as she lay back and looked up through the gloom to the cardboard ceiling. “Dimensional engineering in a den. Nice work, you two.” 

“Well,” Millie said, squeezing inside and nestling into her mother’s side affectionately. “Daddy did it with his sonic. Because _you_ won’t let me have one yet.” 

“I just think you need to be a bit bigger, so you don’t end up getting hurt,” Clara said apologetically, letting one arm rest on her daughter’s back protectively. “Right, Doctor?”

He clambered inside and looked at her in the darkness, glad she couldn’t see his cheeks flush red. “Urm, right…” he agreed uncertainly – and, Clara thought, a little guiltily – before sitting beside them, his legs crossed as he took something out of his pocket and began to tinker with it determinedly. 

“What’s that?” Clara asked suspiciously, and he jumped at her words, moving a little so his back was between it and Clara. “It better not be another bloody clockwork squirrel, the last one frightened the life out of the cat! He wouldn’t eat for a week…” 

“It’s not a clockwork… _ah,_ got it!” he said triumphantly, and seconds later the projection of a galaxy appeared, spinning slowly around them on the walls of the den, vivid purples and blues interspersed with pinprick-sized stars playing over the cardboard. 

“Wow,” Millie breathed quietly, moving to lay with her head on her mother’s bump and smiling with wonder as she felt a familiar sensation. “Mummy, the baby is kicking, I think they like the stars.” 

“Of course they like the stars,” Clara murmured softly to her daughter. “You’ve both of you got space travel in your blood, my little ones.” 

Millie hummed contentedly as the Doctor moved to sit behind Clara, moving so that she propped up in his arms with Millie beside her, one of his arms around his daughter while his free hand stroked gentle circles on Clara’s bump, silently communicating with their unborn child. 

“Mummy?” Millie asked after a few moments of silence. “You brought your book, tell us a story.” 

“Well,” Clara began with a smile. “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Clara Oswald, who blew into this world on a leaf…”

**Author's Note:**

> Beautiful fan art of this fic can be found [here](http://veradune.tumblr.com/post/154949353492/inspired-by-the-den-by-universe-on-her-shoulders) by the crazy talented [veradune](http://veradune.tumblr.com)!


End file.
